


Oh, But He Makes You Laugh

by MellytheHun



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Jokes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Grinding, Horny Teenagers, Humor, Jealous Eddie Kaspbrak, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Richie Tozier, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Party Games, Teenagers, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension, awkward teenage flirting, morons to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 14:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20875493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Several anons on Tumblr requested Jealous!Eddie!Eddie watches in abject bewilderment as a hearty, genuine laugh is startled out of Richie.He seems just as surprised by his laughter as everyone else, laughing high in his throat, clearly caught off-guard, and blushing darkly.It’s not that no one else laughs - they all do, save for Eddie and Stan - but Richie almost never laughs at other people’s jokes, which makes this an anomaly.Or maybe it’s that Richie’s bizarre sense of humor is just too difficult to pin down, so his fits of laughter are rare.Either way, Eddie can’t remember a time he ever startled a raucous giggle out of Richie Tozier, and he doesn’t like that this stranger has somehow managed to within the first ten seconds of interacting with him.





	Oh, But He Makes You Laugh

**Author's Note:**

> It's not explicitly stated, but the Losers are all sixteen to eighteen in this fic!

The sun is out, summer has arrived, and the Losers are all abusing the sample spoons at Leopold’s Ice Cream Parlor, where they are regular nuisances. 

Bill is shaking his head fondly as Stan insists to the others (Richie, in particular) that he absolutely, definitely, without a doubt saw a 20-foot long alligator while visiting his grandmother in Tampa, Florida.

“Just on the side of the road!” Stan keeps saying, “This giant fucking lizard-monster! I thought it was a log, but then it moved!”

Richie is pretty evidently giving Stan a hard time just for the sake of being obstinate, but Stan is as easy to rile up as he’s always been, and Richie always knows just where to poke. 

“Alligators can’t be more than like six feet. That’s bullshit,” Richie argues.

“They’re dinosaurs, they just get bigger over time,” Stanley explains to Richie, “I swear, it was _ at least _ twenty feet long!”

“You’re so full of it - I’m not even gonna make a dick joke here, which would be easy, by the way, but for real, no animals get that big.”

“Yes, they do!” Stanley all but shouts at Richie, making Mike laugh with his desperation to make Richie believe his sighting.

“He’s right, you know,” a voice behind Richie says.

With two pink, plastic spoons sticking out of Richie’s mouth, he turns to the stranger, and asks, “what?”

The boy is in their grade, though not part of their social sphere; he’s nearly as tall as Richie, with light eyes, and walnut colored hair. Eddie recognizes him from his AP bio class, but can’t inwardly recall his name.

The boy nods toward Stanley while keeping eye-contact with Richie, and informs him, “alligators - they can grow up to twenty feet.”

Richie opens his mouth to argue with the new kid, but he’s cut off.

“Which is weird, cause they usually only grow four.”

Eddie watches in abject bewilderment as a hearty, genuine_ laugh _ is startled out of Richie.

He seems just as surprised by his laughter as everyone else, laughing high in his throat, clearly caught off-guard, and blushing darkly. 

It’s not that no one else laughs - they all do, save for Eddie and Stan - but Richie almost never laughs at other people’s jokes, which makes this an anomaly. 

Or maybe it’s that Richie’s bizarre sense of humor is just too difficult to pin down, so his fits of laughter are rare. 

Either way, Eddie can’t remember a time _ he _ ever startled a raucous giggle out of Richie Tozier, and he doesn’t like that this stranger has somehow managed to within the first ten seconds of interacting with him.

Richie shakes with chuckles for a few seconds, then, after a beat, he grins brightly at the new kid, and asks, “who are you?”

“Tom Forrester,” the boy tells him, extending a hand, “You?”

The strangest thing occurs, then.

Richie stares into the light eyes of Thomas Forrester, smiling bright enough to power a million stars, and he spits out his spoons to the left, extends his own hand to meet Tom’s, and says, “Rich.”

Bill glances meaningfully at Ben, Stanley’s brow furrows, while Bev and Mike’s eyebrows shoot up to their hairlines, and Eddie’s jaw drops - _ no one _ calls him ‘Rich,’ unless there is some dire situation unfolding. 

_ Why the fuck does he want this Tom-kid to call him ‘Rich?’ _ Eddie wonders spitefully, watching Tom’s hand linger in Richie’s grip a few seconds too long.

Clearly observing the same potential flirtation, Bill elbows Mike, nodding toward Richie, whispering, “see? I t-told you.”

“I thought it was only with E -”

“These are my friends,” Richie begins, gesturing to the Losers, “Bill, Mike, Stan, Ben, Eddie, and Beverly.”

Tom waves to the rest of them, and is greeted politely, and with varying degrees of intrigue.

Richie hasn’t torn his eyes away for a second, though.

“You wanna hang out with us?”

“Hey, dipshit,” Eddie pipes up, very suddenly irritable, “You can’t just invite whoever you want, whenever you feel like it!”

“Why not?” Richie asks him, gesturing toward Bill, “Bill did it with Bev, and it was like, a super good call. And Bev essentially did the same with Mike, so, like - I can totally invite Tom to hang out with us.”

He twists back to Tom, as if apologetic for the break in their sparkly-eyed staring contest.

“You - uh - you don’t have to, I mean, if you’ve got other -”

“I don’t,” Tom smiles, eyes all for Richie, “What are you guys planning on doing?”

“First day of summer, safe bet is jumping in the quarry, playing Chicken, and giving Ben shit about studying recreationally.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Tom compliments; he looks to the rest of the Losers for signs of his welcome.

Eddie gives him absolutely none, but the rest of the group smiles warmly at him, and Beverly is quick to tell him that he’s very welcome to come along, so long as he knows any reputation he has will be flushed down a toilet for hanging around with them.

Feeling positively betrayed, Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, and goes back to looking at ice cream flavors without retaining any of the labels he’s reading.

“So, T-Tom,” Bill begins, “why d-don’t you have p-plans for summer?”

Tom shrugs, stepping in line with them, directly next to Richie, where Eddie usually likes to stand.

Eddie notices.

“My best friend went off to camp,” Tom explains forlornly, “He’s abandoned me.”

“Aw, Tom Cat, we’ll turn that frown upside-down, don’t you worry,” Richie assures him.

Tom quirks a brow at Richie, as some of the other Losers laugh; Bev looks to Tom and explains, “Richie’s named you. It’s permanent, and you will never like it - it means you’re a member of the Loser’s Club.”

“Oh,” Tom breathes out with a smile, “So, it’s a compliment?”

He directs his question to Richie, and Richie looks_ bashful_.

_ What the actual fuck is happening right now?? _ Eddie’s psyche demands to know.

“Uh, yeah,” Richie answers, “I mean, it’s a compliment no one wants, and everyone hates once they have, which sounds like a riddle? But, yeah - it’s a term of endearment.”

“Anyone give you one?”

That makes Eddie turn from the flavor display to bore holes into the side of Richie’s head, but Richie must not feel his stare; he only stares wide-eyed at Tom.

“Uh… no.”

Some of the Losers trade significant looks, and Ben mutters quietly to Bill, “he’s probably sick of being called Trashmouth. His jokes have gotten better over the years, after all.”

“Hmm,” Tom ponders, looking at Richie with a quizzical finger tapping his chin, “It’s gotta be something you’ll hate. So, uh - Dickie?”

Even Stan joins in with the rowdy, obnoxious laughter the Losers break out into, and Richie smirks, laughs a little, and says, “please, God, no, I already get beeped at enough for all the dick jokes I make as is, that gives me way too many openings.”

“Chard?” Tom offers, basking in the laughter of the Losers, “I love cheese.”

“I’m a red-blooded, tax-paying American, Tom, I love cheese too, but do not call me Chard.”

“Ricardo?”

“Oh, spicy - I kinda like that.”

“Oh, then it’s no good,” Tom brushes off, breaking into a wide smile as Richie groans, clearly having hoped ‘Ricardo,’ would be the pick “Ricky?”

“No, no -”

“Rocko?”

“Jesus fuck, I see why you guys hate this - I need to repent -”

“Oh! I got it!”

It looks as if Richie is trying to look despairing, but his eyes are shining behind his enormous frames, and a smile is tickling the corners of his mouth.

“Ritzy Richie.”

“I hate it.”

“Perfect,” Tom says gladly, “It was once explained to me that, in the Loser’s Club, you’re not _ supposed to _like your nickname, Ritz.”

Blushing, Richie throws his head back, smiling at the ceiling, and throwing his arms up and out as the Losers laugh at his dismay, “oh yeah, laugh it up, you nerds!”

The Losers take him up on that suggestion, with the exception of Eddie, who glares daggers at Tom, and decides to hate him for all eternity.

Once they’ve all devoured their ice creams, and examined some of the things they’re looking forward to (such as, no curfews in place for another two months, summer parties, and cold beers), and are mounting their bikes, Tom makes it known he that came to the parlor by foot. 

At the announcement, Eddie can see the nightmare about to unfold in front of him, so he is about to offer his own bike to Tom, and, in exchange, ride with Richie, or one of the other Losers, but before he can say anything, Richie intervenes.

He shoves his glasses further up his nose, and with a shy smile, says to Tom, “you, uh - you can ride with me, if you want?”

As though he’d hoped for that exact offer, Tom grins happily, nods, and climbs onto the back of Richie’s bike, the nightmarish way Eddie knew would happen, and Eddie overhears Mike whisper to Bill, “this could work out. They look cute together.

Eddie whips his head to Mike, probably to shout about his obvious disloyalties, and question his moral character, but then he hears Tom ask, “shoulders?”

“It’s easier if you hold onto my middle.”

Horrified at what he may see, Eddie gives himself whiplash to look back to Tom and Richie, and watches as Tom smiles flirtatiously at the back of Richie’s head, going to move his hands to Richie’s front.

“Chest okay?”

“Yeah, I don’t care.”

“You will when we hit top speed, and I give you a purple nurple.”

“You wouldn’t,” Richie says with a grin.

“I would, though.”

Beverly, Stan, and Ben turn around to watch the interaction, smiling amongst themselves, obviously amused.

“We’ll crash!” Richie tells him.

“I am not scared to die for the brief satisfaction of making someone else’s life more difficult.”

Eddie feels like he can literally see the hearts floating around Richie’s fucking head.

“Tom, buddy, where the fuck have you been all my life?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, can we put a lid on the flirting long enough to get to the fucking quarry?”

The rest of the Losers look at Eddie, and he instantly feels sorry for having spoken out so angrily. 

He worries he may have embarrassed Richie, which wasn’t his intention, but when he goes to apologize, Tom says, “I don’t think so, no.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, what?” Richie echoes, turning his head over his shoulder to look at Tom.

Tom throws a hitchhiker’s thumb at Richie, and asks, “Ritz here has everything a guy could dream of - he’s tall, maybe a hundred-ten pounds on a good day, likes my bad word play, and enjoys terrible ice cream flavors. I mean -"

“Hey, hey, pistachio is a fucking great flavor -”

“No, it’s not, it’s why there’s always pistachio left over - you’re the only one in town eating it, except for the old people that have no tastebuds left on their tongues.”

“This is an outrage - who do I call?” Richie exclaims, grinning again, “I will have you know, Tom Cat, I have a very discerning tongue -”

Tom makes a lewd expression, and asks, “that so?”

“It _ is _ so,” Richie insists with a reluctant grin, “I am a worldly, learned man, with a tongue that is skilled, practiced, and has tastes far surpassing your childish Chunky Monkey flavors -”

“You can’t shit on Chunky Monkey - Chunky Monkey is a classic!”

“That term doesn’t even mean anything!” Richie argues, “A classic is like - it’s like peer pressure from dead people to enjoy something that’s outdated! Did you have to read _ The Old Man and the Sea_? That shit’s a classic, and it was boring as fuck -”

“It’s a religious allegory, it’s not written for entertainment -”

“Then what the fuck is the point!”

As their flirtatious bickering continues, the rest of the Losers seem surprised, and charmed, Eddie feels entirely forgotten, and Bill says to Mike, “I always th-th-thought R-Richie would find his s-soulmate in the a-arcade, but I g-guess the history b-b-books will show it-it was L-Leopold’s.”

“Shut up,” Eddie mutters angrily to Bill, taking off in the direction of the quarry.

The Losers follow Eddie’s lead, Bev talks to Stan about the alligator he definitely saw, Mike and Bill start interrogations of Ben over what books he’s got in his backpack for his recreational, summer studying, but all Eddie can hear is Tom.

“You gonna hit that pothole on purpose?”

“No? Why would I do that?” Richie asks.

“To dislodge me.”

“Should I want to dislodge you?”

“Give it a few seconds.”

“No - no - what are you gonna do? Are you gonna give me a purple nurple? Tom! Do not!”

“I might!”

“Don’t! Do fucking not!”

"I _might_!"

“God damn it! Your hands are banned from my chest! Get away from the nurples, or I will be forced to take action!”

“So, tummy is still available for tickling?”

“It is not!”

“Are you implying you want my hands lower than your stomach?”

“Oh-ho, are you making an offer, Tom Cat?”

“You okay, Eddie?” Beverly asks, riding up next to him, Stan flanking his other side, “You look like you’re gonna blow a gasket.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie answers, giving the distinct impression that he is not fine.

“Eddie, if you just -” Stan starts exhaustedly, but is interrupted by a crashing sound.

All the Losers stop their bikes, and turn around to see Richie on the ground with Tom, who’s laughing heartily as Richie groans, but still smiles.

“You’re a bastard, Tom.”

“Are y-you g-guys okay?” Bill asks worriedly, biking nearer to them.

“I’ve probably got a concussion, but otherwise I’m fine,” Richie reassures Bill sardonically.

“It’s summertime, Ritz - that makes it a fun-cussion,” Tom corrects.

Richie laughs again, holding his abdomen while sprawled on the ground, half under his bike, and he replies, “in my defense, Bill, I didn’t think he’d actually crash us.”

“And, in my defense, I was left unsupervised with the dashing, an apparently highly ticklish, Ritzy Richie, so,” Tom laughs out.

Richie flops an arm at Tom, smacking him playfully, and Bill smiles at the both of them.

“G-Get up, R-Richie - n-next crash we hear, w-we’re leaving you b-both behind,” Bill admonishes, though there’s absolutely no heat or real threat behind his words; if anything, he seems more endeared to the both of them.

With a mounting headache, Eddie feels a nerve twitch around his eye, and so turns away first, and rides off, ahead of the Losers, guiding the way to the quarry.

When they’ve all stood their bikes up, stripped and line up to jump, Tom looks over the ledge, and requests Richie’s presence.

“Yeah?” Richie asks.

“Sorta high up,” Tom mumbles.

Stepping further on the edge, Richie looks down, and tells him, “don’t sweat it, man. Once you’ve jumped it, it won’t even feel high enough - it’s -”

Then Richie is being pushed off the ledge, scrambling like a cartoon character in midair, and shouting, “oh, fuck you, Tom!”

Cackling evilly, Tom jumps in after Richie, canon-balling, and immediately getting into a splash-fight with Richie.

Announcing it was ‘high time,’ someone goofed on Richie, Mike gladly dives in next, followed by Stan, Bev, and then Eddie is standing there next to Bill, looking down, worried, and self-conscious.

“W-What’re you th-thinkin’ about?” Bill asks, gazing down at the group of teenagers in the water.

Eddie is grateful Bill’s not looking at him; it helps.

“How is he so comfortable with Richie? Like - how is he… how is he doing that?”

“Who kn-knows,” Bill shrugs, but then adds thoughtfully, “M-Maybe he could s-sense that R-R-Richie w-was a k-k-kin-kindred spirit. T-Tom seems like a g-goofball t-too.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums with no discernible emotion.

“You’re a b-brave g-guy, you know, E-Eddie.”

That makes Eddie turn to face Bill, and Bill smiles at him.

“I was p-petrified the f-first time I k-kissed Bev.”

“What? You and Bev -?”

“I d-doubt she’d w-want me t-t-talking about it, if sh-she hasn’t said anything, s-so, you d-don’t know, okay?”

Eddie nods loyally, and Bill sighs happily.

“S-Still. I-If you w-want someone to kn-know how you f-feel about them, you j-j-just g-gotta - gotta t-take that leap, you know? C-Cause, even if they d-don’t wanna k-kiss ever again, or your r-r-relationship ch-changes afterward, or something - it’s w-worth it. C-Cause you w-were b-brave for them. And that’s w-what they d-deserve, when you l-love someone. B-Being brave for them.”

“I, uh - not that it wasn’t a rousing speech, Bill, but I don’t know what it has to do with me,” Eddie denies, looking away.

Bill laughs, and tells him, “I know, Eddie. G-Guess I was j-j-just th-thinking out l-loud. See you d-down there.”

With that, Bill leaps from the ledge, splashes into the water, and almost immediately climbs atop Mike’s shoulders, insisting someone play Chicken with him, which Bev takes him up on.

Eddie takes a steadying breath, and though Richie is too distracted to call for him like he usually does, Richie is the reason he jumps at all.

They play, splash, scream, shout, curse, laugh wildly, and Tom fits in beautifully (much to Eddie’s general disdain) - the Losers get a good feel for him, and he even finds a commonality or two with Eddie, which Eddie does not encourage, or investigate further than nodding in conversation. 

When they’re sufficiently pruned and sunburnt, they make their way back to their bikes and belongings; they lounge about, bodies tired from swimming and biking. Once their underclothes have dried enough to start considering dressing, and getting themselves home, Stan invites them to his house, for movies, games, and pizza.

At the mention of pizza, Richie announces he’s going to kiss Stan on the mouth, and Stan threatens to cut out his tongue for trying.

“Do you see how I’m treated, Tom Cat?” Richie asks him, “I offer nothing but unconditional love, and they turn me away with disgust.”

Eddie watches, to his horror, as Tom smirks at Richie, raises a hand to Richie’s face, pinches his cheek, and says, “you’re fuckin’ cute, Ritz.”

Richie’s face turns a dark shade of red, and he smacks Tom’s hand away, laughing nervously, “sh-shut up, man.”

_ Is that what _ ** _I_ ** _ usually look like when Richie does that to _ ** _me_**_? _ Eddie wonders.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, so he looks away, feels Bev’s eyes on him, but refuses to meet them; he dresses first, and the rest of the Losers follow suit. 

The night advances on them quickly, and they all stop at their respective homes first, to wash up and pack pajamas for their night at Stan’s, which Stan’s parents lovingly approve of. 

Eddie usually stops by Richie’s house on the way to someone else’s house, if they’re going somewhere together - to Stan’s, or Bill’s, sometimes Ben’s house; Eddie figures he’s probably busy with Tom, or whatever, so he doesn’t bother.

When he arrives at Stan’s, he goes to the rumpus room, where he finds Richie sitting on a couch with a bottle of cola.

“Eds! I went by your house to ride with you! Your mom said you already left,” Richie says, as though asking for further explanation.

“Yeah, well, I figured you were probably with Tom,” Eddie tells him plainly.

Disarmed, Richie blushes a bit, but tells him, “no, man - his house was on the way for Mike, so Mike dropped him home. He’s gonna come on his own ride.”

“Cool,” Eddie says blandly, taking a seat across the room, opposite from Richie.

They always sit side-by-side, everywhere, always, and so Richie notices the cold shoulder immediately, and Eddie hates himself for it. 

Eddie is well aware that Richie’s parents ignore him constantly, they’re so cold to him, and Richie is probably confused, and hurt, but Eddie is not ready to apologize and/or explain himself.

He doesn’t even know what there _ is _to explain.

He just doesn’t like Tom. Can’t it be that simple? Can’t he just dislike Tom, and it not mean anything? Can’t he say, ‘I fucking hate Tom, and you should too,’ without needing to explain himself further?

Richie looks like he’s about to say something, but then Ben enters the room, and shows that he’s brought a movie with him, and extra bags of microwavable popcorn, and Bill follows closely behind, with more sodas.

Mike, Tom, and Bev all show up at around the same time, and while the movies play on the television, they’re nearly muted, and the Losers keep each other busy with the board game _ Life _ (which Bev and Richie try desperately to cheat at), happy conversation (kept up by Bill, and Ben), sassy quips, and rule-enforcing (by Stan, and Mike) and insufferable flirting (between Tom and Richie). 

“Wanna play Never Have I Ever?” Tom asks the group.

Ben is the one to ask, “what is that?”

“It’s a game where someone states something they’ve never done - like, say, I say out loud ‘never have I ever stolen a vehicle,’ and then, if someone in the room has done that thing, they take a swig of whatever they’re drinking. Usually the first person to finish their drink is the loser, and whoever lasts the longest without finishing their drink wins,” Bev explains, “Although, I tend to think the people getting drunk are the ones really winning.”

“We don’t have alcohol here, though,” Stan inserts.

“It’s fine with sugary drinks too,” Tom tells him with a sweet smile, and a wiggle of his empty cola bottle, “We should all crack open new bottles of soda, and start a game! It’s a good way to get to know people.”

“_We _ all know each other already - _ pretty well_, I might add,” Eddie snips.

“Party games can be very revealing,” Tom retorts, crossing his legs in such a way that his knee knocks with Richie’s, “You think you know a person, and then you play a party game like Never Have I Ever, and your world gets turned upside down.”

“I’m in,” Mike announces, and the rest soon follow; Eddie finds himself quickly out-voted, and so sighs, sits on the floor in a circle with the group, and opens his bottle of soda.

“Who should start?” Stan inquires.

“Tom suggested it,” Richie points out, nudging Tom with his elbow, “Start us off, Cat Man.”

Lips pursing in amusement at Richie’s bad nickname, Tom turns to the group, and says, “okay - let’s start simple. Never have I ever cheated on a test.”

Tom, Ben, Mike, and Stan are the only ones to not take a swig.

“_Never_?” Richie exclaims disbelievingly, “Not _ once_?! Come on! _ Never_? _ How_? _ How _ is that even possible?”

“What’d you cheat on?” Tom redirects.

“Oh my God, where do I even start?” Richie wonders aloud, “I started so young! I hated doing those cursive packets in elementary school - you know, the ones where you have to copy the alphabet in cursive over, and over, and over? I fuckin’ made Eddie do it for me.”

Everyone laughs, Stan mutters, “ugh, why am I not surprised?” - and Eddie smiles to himself; they were maybe five or six years old when that happened; he had no idea Richie remembered that. 

Ruining Eddie’s singular moment of happiness in the day, Tom interrupts his nostalgia by asking Richie, “do you know how to sign your name?”

“Fuck no - I just learned how to make the ‘R,’ and ‘T,’ look fancy as Hell, and the rest are squiggles. Meaningless squiggles.”

Laughing again, and admonishing Richie, the group determines that, going clockwise, Richie should be next.

“Okay, okay - never have I ever… uh… farted during a religious service.”

“Audibly?” Stan asks.

Making his eyes go wide, and his eyebrows spring up, Richie asks Stan, “does that specification _ matter_?”

Stan shrugs, takes a swig of his drink, as do Ben, Bev, Eddie, and Tom.

Richie gapes, “you farted in synagogue?”

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” Stan yells, “Services take forever!”

“Hold it!” Richie argues, splaying his arms out, “You fucking hold it!”

“For like three hours!?” Stan exclaims, while the rest of the Losers laugh at the two of them bickering.

“Do you even know how bad that is for you?!” Eddie interrupts, gesticulating sharply at Richie, “Have you been holding gas in for hours at a time? You’re gonna fuck up your stomach like that!”

“I can’t believe you heathens have been playing the butt trumpet while the teachings of Moses and Jesus are being handed down to you from your respected elders. Shameful.”

“Oh my God,” Stan complains, “You are such a weird dude, Richie, I can say, with all sincerity, I truly do not understand where, or why you draw lines.”

“I am a weird dude that respects my synagogue, and does not make Mrs. Goldberg suffer my noxious _ fumes _ -”

“P-Please make him s-stop t-talking,” Bill intercepts with a giggle.

Next to Richie is Ben, who, smiling and straining from the laughter, offers, “uhh - never have I ever… uhm… broken a bone.”

Bill, Eddie, Richie, and Tom drink - when Eddie’s put his drink down, he looks at Richie curiously.

“You broke a bone? When?”

Richie looks up thoughtfully, as though trying to recall, “it was a tiny fracture - barely counted. It was during the summer you got mono, and your mom made your entire house a bio-hazard zone, and we barely saw each other, so I didn’t think you’d remember. I took a fall on my bike, and Bill’s dad had to reset my finger, then take me to the doctor.”

Some of the Losers groan in sympathy, but as Eddie goes to ask a follow-up question, Richie turns to Tom, and asks, “what’d you break?”

“Both my collarbones, twice.”

All but Eddie shout excitedly, wondering at how, and when, and why.

“I tried out for football in the ninth grade, got pummeled at the _ first _ practice, went to the hospital, got a bunch of screws put in, and could barely move for like two months,” Tom recounts, “Then, as soon as I was up to riding my bike again, I hit a pothole in the road, and went face-first into the fuckin’ asphalt, breaking them again.”

“Are you telling me that you made us spill on the bike today, knowing full well that it could’ve killed both of us, and more realistically, re-broken your already twice-broken collarbones?” Richie demands to know, a grin splitting his face.

Tom shrugs, “I’m here for a good time, Ritz, not a long time.”

"You are maybe my hero, Tom Cat!" Richie declares, flabbergasted, and gladly so, Richie laughs again, and Tom looks enraptured by it.

Eddie stews in his hatred.

“It’s your turn, Bill,” Eddie announces.

“Oh, uhm, well… n-never have I ever…” he looks at Eddie, then at Richie through the corner of his eye, then to Stan, then down at his bottle; he smiles to himself, “never h-have I ever had a c-c-crush on a g-guy.”

Shocking everyone, _ Bill _ takes a swig first, at his own open question to the group - Bev grins broadly at him, says, “oh, you and I are _ so _ talking about this,” then takes a swig herself.

With doe-eyes that could guilt the truth out of the most hardened criminals, Bill looks around shyly, and then Tom drinks, Stan drinks, Richie drinks, and Eddie glares at Bill, but does, in fact, take a swig.

“Who is it, who is it, who is it, who is it, who is it -” Bev starts up, poking Bill in the arm.

“Hey, hey, th-that’s not a r-rule in the g-game!” Bill laughs, “I d-don’t have t-to say shit!”

Growling comically, Bev surrenders, lifts her bottle up, and proclaims, “fine! Never have I ever kissed a boy!”

“Must the drinker be the kisser?” Tom asked, “Or do you still drink if you were the kissee?”

“Lemme rephrase,” Bev suggests, “Never have I ever participated in the kissing of a boy.”

She drinks, but only Stan, and Tom drink with her.

“Stan?” Bill asks, turning to him with brows sprung high.

“It was at camp, and on a dare, but it happened,” Stan explains quickly, “I didn’t have a crush on him, though.”

Bill looks somewhat relieved, though Eddie thinks that only he and Beverly notice the shift in his shoulders; then it’s Stan’s turn.

“Never have I ever had a wet dream.”

“How would I know?” Bev asks Stan.

He looks curiously at her, then asks her, personally, “have you ever woken up feeling… uh… post-coital? Like you’d had an orgasm in your sleep?”

She shakes her head, and Stan says, “well - to be honest, I don’t know that wet dreams happen to girls. Maybe they don’t? They theoretically could, though.”

“So, I’m counted out?” Bev frowns.

Taking pity on her, Stan rolls his eyes, and corrects himself, “fine, okay, for the sake of being more inclusive - never have I ever had a highly realistic sex dream.”

Everyone takes a swig, and the Losers all laugh together.

“It’s not like - sexy, for me?” Mike shares, smiling from ear to ear, “It’s like a premonition. I almost always have a sex-dream about someone the day before I see them unexpectedly.”

“Now, _ that’s _ a super power,” Richie celebrates, “Have you had one about me?”

To Richie’s apparent delight, Mike nods, and tells them all, “I’ve bumped into all of you unexpectedly at some point, and I swear, literally every time it happens, the night before, I had a weird sex dream about us.”

“Did you like any of them?” Stan dares to ask.

Looking pensive, but still smiling playfully, Mike admits, “well, Dream-Bill is probably the sweetest of the lovers in my brain -”

Without hesitation, Bill stands up, and bows theatrically, only to sit back down with his head hung in faux shame when Mike adds, “but Dream-Bev was definitely the most enjoyable.”

“_Yes_!” she gloats, high-fiving Mike.

“Your turn,” Stan tells Mike.

“Hmm. Never have I ever been in love - like, for real. No crushes. The real deal.”

Ben, Bill, and Bev all drink immediately, but it takes a beat - then Richie drinks.

They all stare at Richie in wonder, but it’s Mike that manages to lock eyes with Richie, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Yeah?”

Richie opens his mouth to reply, but Eddie interrupts him, “I swear to God, Richie, if this is a joke about my mom -”

“It’s not!” Richie denies to Eddie, looking sincere, and earnest in a way he so rarely is, then looks back to Mike, and confirms, “yeah, though. Real deal.”

The group becomes solemn, and Bev tilts her head at him.

“Were you ever with them - like, did you date?”

“No,” Richie confesses, staring down at his soda bottle, “It’s one-sided.”

“It _ is _ one-sided?” Ben asks, leaning further into the circle to get a better look at Richie, “Like, presently? You still love this person?”

Nodding, Richie tries to smile, but only barely manages it.

Eddie’s heart aches at the sight.

“I think… I think that’s how love is, though. Like, when you love a person, for real, like - unconditionally - you never stop. Even if they don’t love you back, or like, they move away, or you never see them again. I think that sort of thing lasts forever. Like, maybe time changes them, and stuff, but when you love them, it’s like - it’s in the foundation, you know what I mean? So, the outward stuff can change, and behavioral stuff can change, but, deep down, it’s the same person, you know - the same foundation. And that’s the person you love, that’s the shit you fall in love with, the shit at the foundation of a person, the rest is dressings, so, once you love someone, if it’s real, I don’t think you ever stop.”

Tapping the rim of his bottle, Richie murmurs, “I think that’s what scriptures and stuff mean, when they say love is ‘eternal.’ It just - like, everything goes away, right? Like things die, and change, and people do too, but love - the real deal stuff, the unconditional stuff - that outlasts death, and change. That’s why it’s stronger than everything else. Cause, it’s not about like - the meat of a person. It doesn’t have to do with having eyes, or skin, or whatever - stuff that can go away, or fade, or change - it’s in the spirit, and that’s forever. It endures. So, I think, even like, decades from now, I’ll be in love with this person, cause once I fell in love, it was forever.”

Gesturing vaguely, Richie adds, “that’s not to say, that like, first loves are the only loves that are real, or anything - I think people can love different folks at the same time, right? Like, maybe one day, I’ll get married or something, but I’ll always _ also _ love this one person, at the same time. It won’t invalidate the love I feel for my new person, but it might… you know… it might always be there, in my heart - or, in my spirit, I mean. It’ll always run parallel to the other love I have - they won’t touch, they won’t intersect, but they’ll both go on forever, and they’ll both always be there. Equal, but not the same. Just as much a line, though. Just as real as the other...”

“That was beautiful, Richie.”

Richie looks up to Stan, and stares wide-eyed into Stan’s watery gaze.

“Uh - thanks,” Richie says awkwardly, clearly looking to slink back into his jokes.

Bev sniffles, and smiles at him the same way Stan does, and she reaches out to touch his hand, which he doesn’t deny her, but he clearly looks uncomfortable.

“Richie - I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

“That r-really was something, R-Rich,” Bill compliments, looking at him with awe.

“Yeah, man,” Mike contributes, “I doubted you for a second, but you might be the only person I believe ever again about being in love.”

Eddie opens his mouth to say something - _ anything _ \- cause his heart is beating out of his chest, and his blood is running really hot, and he’s feeling twisted up inside, like a wrung out towel, but then Tom grabs Richie’s other hand, and Richie twists his head to look at Tom.

“I feel sorry for whoever you’re in love with, that they won’t know what they’re missing out on.”

“Since when am I a prize?” Richie asks rhetorically, sarcastically, squirming, and pretty apparently trying to worm away from the physical touches, and searing gazes of his friends, “Jesus, had I known being serious for a few seconds would fuck everybody up so bad, I would’ve kept my mouth shut -”

It’s then that he looks at Eddie for rescue; he gives Eddie a look they both know well, a look they’ve traded when the other had to find an escape route from conversation for the other, and without thinking, Eddie jumps into action.

“Never have I ever had my heart broken.”

Relaxing their holds on Richie, and moving their eyes back to their drinks, Richie, Mike, and Ben drink.

Eddie drinks too.

He doesn’t know why, really, but when the words ‘heart broken,’ leave him, he immediately thinks of being at Leopold’s earlier that day, and hearing Richie laugh at someone else’s joke.

Once he’s put his bottle down again, he catches Richie staring at him, opening his mouth to say something, but he’s stopped again by Tom.

“Never have I ever gotten in a fist-fight.”

Everyone drinks to that, and laughs are shared again - Eddie got the ball rolling, but it’s Tom that saves the day, by moving onto less serious topics.

At the relief it clearly brings Richie, Eddie is actually hard pressed to hate Tom for it; not that Eddie can imagine hating him more than he already does.

“Never have I ever fallen asleep in the bathtub,” (Stan, and Mike have), “never have I ever made a courting gift for someone I wanted to date,” (Bill, Ben, Richie, and Tom have), “never have I ever gotten caught with my pants down,” (“are you being indelicate here?” Richie asked - the answer was ‘yes,’ and Richie, Tom, Eddie, and Stan drank). 

They had fun, shared stories they’d never had reason to share before, and by the time it’s circled back to Eddie, his bottle is almost empty, and he states firmly, “never have I ever eaten moldy food.”

No one but Richie drinks.

“Richie!”

“Oh, Ritz, that is not cute.”

“Come on, man!”

“That’s n-nasty, Richie.”

“Did you know it was moldy?!”

“You’re disgusting, Richie!”

Richie cackles at all the shouting directed at him, shining and smiling the way he does under a spotlight, “what!? It was the last english muffin in the house, and it was barely moldy. There was nothing else to eat!”

Completely nauseated, Eddie makes a gagging noise, and Richie, clearly happy to have elicited a direct response from Eddie perches forward, and offers nonchalantly, “oh, come on, Eds - it’s penicillin - it’s good for you!”

“No! No, it fucking is not, Richie!” Eddie argues, flushing under Richie’s attention, “You’re literally the grossest person in the world!”

“It’s just extra vitamins! I don’t know why you’re all such prudes. I probably have the best immune system in the room just for having eaten it.”

Eddie gags again, and Richie laughs at him, while the rest of the Losers roll their eyes, or laugh along with Richie.

The game goes late into the night, until everyone's exhausted their brains, trying to think of things they haven't done; they play a good three rounds, and burp through a lot of their laughter.

Once it's time to actually sleep, the sleepover is lonely for Eddie, which is new for him, because, with Richie around, Eddie has never felt lonely. But, in this room full of friends, he winds up feeling sad, and lonesome beyond the telling of it. 

Richie sleeps nearby, maybe four feet away, but he winds up closer on the floor to Tom than to Eddie, which is not how sleepovers go for them - usually Richie abandons his own blankets and pillows to try and hoard Eddie’s, sticking close, cuddling uninvited, and Eddie doesn’t complain, cause he runs fuckin’ cold, and Richie’s body heat is always welcome, no matter how obnoxious his long limbs are.

But there’s nothing to keep him warm that night; too far away for comfort, Richie stays up into the wee hours, whispering and laughing with Tom, instead.

Their quiet chatter doesn’t seem to bother anyone else, but Eddie can’t sleep, and not due to their volume. He’s bothered, irritable, and then Eddie catches Bill staring knowingly at him at around two in the morning, and that’s when Eddie decides to shut his eyes, ignore Tom and Richie, and try his damnedest to sleep. 

It didn’t come easily.

The next two weeks are much the same; the Losers bond in the sunshine, roll around in the grass and dirt, play Chicken in the quarry, spend time in the clubhouse Richie only barely fits in anymore, talk through movies at Bill and Stan’s houses, measure how far they can spit their gum, and Tom just blends in, like he’s always been there.

Eddie feels him like he goes against the grain of Eddie’s very soul, but everyone else seems to love him - Richie in particular - and every joke they laugh over together, every story they trade, every glance they give, every flirtatious wink, every casual pat, every inch closer they sit, every pinched cheek - it makes Eddie _ crazy _. 

If his pointed silence is noticeable, Richie doesn’t mention it.

That bothers Eddie more than it should.

The breaking point comes two and a half weeks after they first meet Tom, on a sunny Friday when Eddie’s approaching the ice cream parlor, expecting all the Losers to arrive at the same time, and happens upon Richie and Tom already there; alone.

The only reason they would be there early would be to be left alone - to get some time in together, before the rest of the Losers show up.

They’ve already got ice cream too, so they’ve been there long enough to be served; Tom’s got pistachio, and Richie’s got what looks like Chunky Monkey, and Eddie feels something in his chest cavity crackle.

“They’re mortuary school students, right? So, they go to a mortuary to see how it’s done. ‘The first thing you should know about working in a mortuary,’ the teacher says, ‘is you can’t be squeamish.’ He takes off his latex glove, shoves his finger right up the ass of the body on the table, and everyone watches in horror as he then sticks his finger in his mouth -”

“Rich, I already hate this,” Tom tells him, already laughing.

“Shush, wait, it gets worse - so then, he tells the students to do the same. Like, they all gotta - it’s mandatory. They all line up, and do it - when the last student sticks their finger in, then into their mouth, the teacher says, ‘okay, the second thing you should know about working in a mortuary is attention to detail. I stuck my middle finger in, but sucked my index finger.’”

“Ohh, come on, Ritz! That’s so nasty!” Tom guffaws.

Richie, laughing at his own joke, puts a hand on Tom’s shoulder, leaning in more closely, and continuing, “that’s what the students think too! Some of them even throw up! Then he says, as he picks up a briefcase, ‘the third thing you should know, just in general, is that I don’t work here.’ Then, from the table, they all hear, ‘and the fourth thing you should know - is I ain’t dead!’”

Playfully pushing Richie away in faux disgust, Tom exclaims, “that is the grossest joke in the world, Rich, you are the worst!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Richie tells him proudly.

Eddie doesn’t laugh.

All he can see is how happy Richie is, how blinding his smile is, how close Tom is standing, how their bodies are curved toward each other, like responsive magnetic poles, how they complement each other so well, and Eddie feels short, and useless, and not entertaining enough, not brave enough, not funny enough, not _ enough_, not enough for _ Richie _ -

_Oh_, Eddie thinks as his eyes fill with tears, _Oh._ _I get it. Okay. I get it. I get it now._

Frozen, he stares at the two of them, how glad Richie looks, how jovial he is, how beautiful he is, and it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to Eddie.

He turns on his bike, and goes to leave - he can’t take anymore of their flirting, he can’t tolerate anymore of the cartoon hearts floating around Richie’s head, he can’t watch them be stupidly perfect for each other, he can’t take any of it anymore. 

Richie spots him, though, before he’s fully out of view, and calls out, “hey! Eds! Come back here, I wanna make you suffer my amazing sense of humor!”

Already crying, Eddie doesn’t reply, and doesn’t turn back; Richie calls after him repeatedly, increasingly worried, but Eddie doesn’t want Richie to see him cry either.

_ I’m such a coward_, Eddie curses himself, tears streaming down his cheeks, riding back home, and hiding away in his room.

His mother doesn’t inquire why he’s home early, and doesn’t notice his tears.

He falls onto his bed in his room, and covers his face with a pillow, wanting to scream, but knowing it will do no good.

He can cry, and scream, but he’s in love with Richie fucking Tozier, and it took Richie wanting someone else for Eddie to wake the fuck up to that, and as Eddie has heard, once one loves another, they never really stop.

It’s forever.

This Hell is forever, and he cries harder, wanting Richie to worry about his absence just as much as he hopes Richie doesn’t blame himself for it.

_ I want him to be happy_, Eddie reasons with himself, trying to make the crying stop, _ I’ve always wanted him to be happy. He’s happy, so why the fuck am I crying? _

A knock on his window scares him badly enough to make him nearly fall off his bed.

As if conjured by magic, Richie is crouched there, having climbed the side of the house, flushed, sweaty, and looking worriedly at him through the glass.

Unable to ignore him, Eddie wipes away the tears still on his face, sniffles, knows he’s been caught anyway, and goes to open the window.

Richie all but falls into his room, and he’s panting, holding his chest, trying to catch his breath.

“Jesus, Eds, you bike fast as fuck. I’m out of shape.”

“You’d just eaten - all the blood goes to your stomach to aid in digestion, leaving less circulation for your limbs, so it feels worse, but it’s just cause you ate right before exercising. You’re not in bad shape. It’s normal. That’s why people get sleepy after a big lunch - circulation goes less to their brains, and more to their stomachs -”

“Why were you crying?”

Eddie’s jaw snaps shut.

It’s as if Richie’s glaring at him, but that might just be the odd look of his ridiculous glasses.

“I… sorry.”

“What the fuck are you sorry about?” Richie asks, as if it’s an absurd statement.

“I…”

If Eddie had been given even a few hours more to prepare to see Richie, he’d have been able to circumvent all of this, but, as it stands, Richie finds him when he’s raw with exhaustion, and vulnerable from all the other emotions Richie’s given him over the last two and a half weeks, and in a bout of self pity the size of Jupiter.

Tears well up in his eyes again, very much against Eddie’s will, wounds cut afresh, and he covers his face in his hands, unable to face Richie.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I love you so much, Rich, I thought I hated Tom, but you like him so much, and you have so much fun with him, and it’s like you forgot about me, cause someone shiny and new came along, and it sucks - it fucking sucks, Richie - cause you’re like this big, warm light that shines on me, and then when you’re not looking at me, all the light and warmth goes away, and Bill tried to tell me, he tried to make me fucking wake up, but I didn’t, and now you like someone, like - seriously - and I can tell, it's so obvious, and you're so right for each other, and it hurts, it sucks, but I want you to be happy, I just wanted to _ be _ the person that made you happy -”

And that’s it - the nail is hit on the head, and Eddie sobs harder, shaking.

“I wanna _ be _ the person that makes you that happy, fuck, Rich, I'm sorry - _I_ wanted that - _me_ -_ I_ wanna be the person you wanna sit closest to, _I_ wanna be - I wanna be Tom, as funny as Tom, as handsome as Tom, as brave as Tom, cause he gets so close to you, like it's no big deal, like it's not the most important thing ever to be close to you, and get to touch you, and he isn’t always bitching at you like I am, and - God, I’m so annoying! Tom is cool, Tom is like, perfect for you - and I’m so shitty! I'm this useless, anxious, bitchy, tight-ass who can’t even -”

In one swift motion, Richie grabs Eddie’s wrists, and spreads his arms, exposing his face, and as soon as Eddie looks up, blinking tears away, about to shout at Richie for forcing him to be seen crying, Richie kisses him soundly on the lips.

Time stands still, the tears stop, but the shaking only gets worse.

Richie’s lips are full, and warm, and soft, and he smells like summertime, like fresh air, and he tastes like chocolate and peanut butter.

Richie draws away enough to keep their lips touching as he admonishes Eddie softly, “don’t talk about the boy I love like that.”

Eddie gazes up into Richie’s eyes, astonished, but Richie doesn’t smile, or poke fun.

“The boy I’ve been in love with for practically my whole life - he’s the sweetest, bravest, smartest guy I know, and I don’t want to hear you ever say a bad thing about him again.”

Round eyes staring in amazement, Eddie is left speechless, as Richie rolls his own dark, beautiful eyes, and admits, “and I’m not blind - Tom is hot, but… Eddie, you gotta know, I’d fuckin’ trade out the moon for you. You’re… you’re the most beautiful thing in the whole Goddamn world to me, I - I love you, everything about you. You make me laugh all the time, Eddie. You’re my favorite person. You don’t have to be shiny, and new, or what the fuck ever. You’re my favorite. You’ve always been my favorite, and you always will be.”

Hiccuping, Eddie’s eyes let slip a few more tears as he asks, “I - was I the one that broke your heart?”

Regretfully, Richie nods, but then he smiles, and reassures Eddie, “yeah, but you’re fixing it up real nice right now.”

Eddie gives a watery laugh, relief making his knees weak, and Richie nudges their noses together, shuts his eyes, and tells him, “I was meeting with Tom cause his friend comes back from camp today - he was gonna ditch us early, and I thought you were mad at me, so I wanted more one-on-one time with someone who was still laughing at my bad jokes before he left. I promise, you’re the heartbreaker here, Eds. I was only flirting with Tom, cause I was trying to get over you.”

“So, I’m -”

“You are the only person I’ve ever been in love with, Eddie Kaspbrak, and no matter what happens, from right now, to the end of the entire world, I’m gonna love you. I’m always gonna love you. It’s the real deal stuff.”

“The shit in the foundation,” Eddie parrots.

“Aw, you do listen to me,” Richie coos.

“Believe me, if there were a mute button on you -”

“You’d never use it.”

Tilting his head, and finally smiling again, Eddie confesses, “no. I wouldn’t.”

Richie’s grin dims a little, and then he decides, “I’m gonna kiss you again now. And, cards on the table here, I have no idea if I’ll be able to stop ever again.”

“You’ll eventually get hungry,” Eddie comments jokingly.

“I’ll eat you up instead,” Richie teases, licking the seam of Eddie’s lips, “How’s that sound?”

Whining in his throat, Eddie parts his lips, and lets Richie lead the way; and as it turns out, the way leads directly to Eddie’s bed, where they spend a full hour groping, grinding, gasping, and making out with absolutely no relief.

At first, Eddie wonders why none of the Losers call, to see where he and Richie are.

They must have arrived at Leopold’s, and Tom must have said his goodbyes to them, returning to his own buddy, home from camp finally, and then explaining that Eddie had run off, and Richie had given chase, and that neither had returned.

Eddie smiles into the kisses Richie so generously bestows, flooding him with warmth, and light, and Eddie imagines that Bill probably smiled, told the rest of the Losers to let the two of them be for the day, and they must have carried on without Eddie and Richie just fine.

Next he sees Bill, he’ll tell Bill he was brave - and Bill will get it, and it’ll be good. 

What Bill won’t know is that to show off just how brave he can be for Richie, Eddie spreads his legs wide, thrusts up to cant against Richie’s trapped, throbbing cock, and as he reduces Richie to tortured groans, whispers in his ear, “I love you, Richie."


End file.
